Feioweren
by El Angel Caido
Summary: I should have realized that every song, no matter how melodious and pleasing... ends.


**Feioweren**

El Angel Caido

Disclaimer: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh

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"I'm not sick... I'm fine," you reassure me, squeezing my hand with what little strength you have left. Despite your shuddering and coughing, eyes watering at the violent spasms beating your body down, you continue with that masquerade. "Really... trust me."

Trust you? When your face is white, so pale that it mimics the shade of the snow-painted infirmary walls, when your smile is but a seizure of the lips? Or what used to be lips... now they are lilies, creased and dented, wilting with time's cruel pressure. How could anyone fall for an obvious lie like that?

It's almost laughable.

But somehow, I find myself unable to laugh.

I don't think it's the smell of anesthesia that's choking my throat with its sharp, strangling presence... nor do I believe it's the sight of you, everyday trading more and more characteristics with the crumpled blankets, as if they sucked the life out of you. As if you were them, and they were you, and it's all just too confusing.

Confusion is the last thing I need at a time like this.

Maybe it's because that day... that first day when we met, it was your laughter that even allowed me to realize your presence. The room was crowded and full of others exchanging stories and general merriment, but I was lost as usual. I couldn't see where my feet were taking me, and it didn't bother me a bit. I just know that I heard bells ringing and came to you. You weren't bells though.

And I can't say that I was disappointed.

At that time, you were still well. You glowed brighter than me with vibrant snow skin and a voice not unlike wind-chimes. They always annoyed me, made me uneasy, especially during thunderstorms as they measured the ferocity of the breeze... but yours were different. You chose your notes and rests wisely, practically unable to be dissonant.

You could say that it was my ears that fell in love with you first. The rest of me just followed along, just as it trailed the path on which my feet decided to partake. What can I say? I should know better than to listen to myself.

But later, as we made love in that very same room, the hushes echoing louder than the chaos and chatter of the sun's reign, the rest of me decided, piece by piece, that it would have taken the same steps nonetheless... even if it had been another way.

We would have seen each other through light-tinted windows, incapable of ignoring the amorous reflection of our own selves merged with the image of the stranger, the stranger that we'd known since "forever" first slipped haphazardly from the lips of promise.

We would have felt each other's fingers, softly brushing against each other in the muffled darkness of a theater, surrounded by so many barely existing entities yet so alone... So conscious of one's separation from others... with this first touch, the envy of all feather pillows.

It all would have been the same way in the end. Because there is no way that this reality could cease to exist.

I dabble some water from a clean cloth onto your mouth to keep those grooves from deepening into canyons. Because then you might fall in, and I would have no choice but to dive in after to save you.

You wouldn't be so irresponsible, though, I hope.

But with this gesture, I am able to silence you for the moment, letting your vocal cords relax from their torturous scratching for just a while. Your voice is like wind-chimes in this way as well. The memory of it is so much lovelier than the real thing.

Sad, but true.

I didn't want to have to face absence just for the sake of beauty. You told me that you thought beauty was the meaning, the end-all, of life, of, well, of meaning itself, but I'm afraid that I don't agree... Isn't beauty the reason I got into this mess in the first place? Chasing after hummingbirds only to be outrun by a mile... upwards. And what use is beauty after the struggle is over, and everything is nothing?

Oh, no... I mustn't speak of that... I really shouldn't display my bitterness in such a way. It's selfish and unfair to you, I know. I truly apologize... but yes, I digress, let us return to the subject at hand.

So... you mentioned joy, you mentioned laughter. And sure, we had plenty of both in our time, but even while experiencing it, you never told me that you had planned on leaving so abruptly. I mean most people give some kind of warning right before... but you just up and exit... as if my feelings didn't matter to you.

Did they really?

You avoid my eyes now as if you don't want to answer me. Fine, be that way. I'll call on the nurse and ask her to change your sheets... They've been looking so flesh-colored lately that I can't tell where you end and they begin.

Finding my way into the corridor, I breathe deeply and close my eyes, laying my back against the cool metal of the door, perfectly aware of my strange countenance in front of strolling patients and meandering doctors. I don't really mind that much... looking strange and all. I'm used to it.

I try to stop a few nurses, but they either give me an excuse or look at me as if I'm sorely mistaken to even be speaking to them. It's disheartening. All I want is some starched white bed-sheets for you... is that too much to ask?

Instead I'm just left to thinking again. Which is always a bad idea.

In all actuality, we didn't ever get to spend that much time together. The day we met was probably the pinnacle of our amputated relationship with each other. I felt as if the dénouement came too quickly from then on... as if my being there deteriorated you... just as the hospital bed did, soaking you up like translucent liquid.

We were new friends, new lovers, young and oblivious, bashful and thirsting for emotional outlets... It was all a jumble to say the least. The accelerated pace that time took... deciding not to wait for the stragglers who'd been left behind.

I had a vision. A vision of you, healed and whole once again, seated on the chair next to what used to be your designated deathbed with a smug expression. I guess the bet's off then. You win after all. And then things would be the way they used to be.

No more entrapping whitewashed room with plastic walls. No more world that could fit into the panes of a skylight. No, no, no... thus was freedom.

I rush back to your room, one last visit to the den before being released... if happenstance desired to favor us this day. I'm too excited to see. I'm blind. I don't need senses. Senses led me to you, and now I can find my own way home.

"You're not going to suffer anymore... it's over... You're going home..."

Home.

But when I finally open my eyes, all I see is white. The glaring white of sheets wrapped onto a newly-made bed. And I wonder if you had ever been there at all.

Perhaps I had been the patient the entire time. Perhaps I was the one who was, as they say, "sick." But I couldn't help but feel that it was your fault for pulling me into such a rut.

You told me that you were well. That I was well. And you told me to trust you. I should have gone with my instincts at the very beginning and known that... that wind-chimes were made for those who wanted to pause for a second, letting past thoughts wash over them. Never a thing of permanence.

But I was enchanted by the music and stayed to listen, day and night, through fair and stormy weather.

It was unhealthy. It was sick. I was sick.

I should have realized that every song- including yours- no matter how melodious and pleasing... no matter how similar it is to bells... ends.


End file.
